Some Incessant Contemplation
by soxx
Summary: It was the way she didn’t care about anything in the world except her own happiness. And maybe Carly’s. CarlyxSam.


It was the way she didn't care about anything in the world except her own happiness

It was the way she didn't care about anything in the world except her own happiness. And maybe Carly's.

It was the way she found the utmost enjoyment out of the tiniest things; like a strip of bacon or tripping some geek (Gibby).

It was the way that her curly blonde hair smelled; amazing. Like Pantene. Carly silently thanked god each night for creating it.

It was also the way that it looked—silky, soft, also very full—as she spurted this random obsession with taming it over the summer between middle and high school, which was very un-Sam-like, but, god, did Carly not mind.

It was the way her slate blue eyes were like some type of trigger to one's internal organs when they were aimed at you—it caused everything to quicken and pound and fly. Or at least, that's what it did to her brunette best friend.

It was the way she gradually became a little more feminine, yet still managed to keep her tough-ass tomboy composure.

It was the way her acts of tough-ass, tomboy composure planted a smile on Carly's face.

Like when she'd arrive at the apartment filthy, scraped, and late because she had stopped to play football with the boys in the row homes down the street.

Or after telling off a teacher just for holding their authority over her.

It was the way her skin always looked so smooth, and shiny and tan, but not ever greasy. Only sweaty, at most.

It was the way she had such great passion for all the sports she played—the way she was so ridiculously nimble and quick on a court or a field, so quick-witted and thought strategically.

It was the way she was so impressive without trying to be.

It was the way she looked in a simple fitted t-shirt and some soffee shorts. Depth of her toned stomach visible, sun-baked legs lean and muscular.

It was the way she looked in jeans and her layered t-shirts.

It was the way she looked in her denim mini and knit henley from Hollister the first time she slunk around in it reluctantly.

It was the way she never felt the need for a sleeping bag and all that whenever she slept over; she just hopped into bed right next to Carly and she was set.

It was the way, in that bed, that she would fall asleep so far away, but somehow Carly would wake up in the middle of every night to find the top of her soft blonde head cradled to Carly's chest.

And it was the way in the morning it would mysteriously return to the farthest inch of the pillow again.

It was the way that, despite she claimed to be afraid of nothing, not even death, she clenched onto Carly's hand, practically clawing it the entire time whenever they watched Texas Chainsaw Massacre, and any of the Saws, or visited the abandoned house on the other side of town.

It was the way she would silently make up for it, never even admitting to any of it whenever Carly brought it up jokingly, when she'd snake an arm around Carly's back whenever she, herself was scared.

It was the way she talked about how maybe Freddy wasn't as uncool as she didn't give him credit for that one night, slurred, and unknowingly in her sleep, with her head on Carly, as usual. Maybe that he wasn't really, truly a hideous little tech-freak.

It was the way she continued to talk about how gorgeous she thought Carly looked when she made her own dark brown hair all curly and wavy and pinned her bangs at just the right angle across her forehead—still in her sleep, comparing this with her comments towards Freddy.

It was the way that didn't really mean anything, but Carly immediately etched every word into her mind the second she heard it and clung onto it with all her heart—as literally as that could be.

It was the way after she caused some net to 'whoosh,' she had this huge, snowy-toothed grin on her face.

It was the way her face looked when she was all flushed from playing sports or from being embarrassed over something the few occasions she was.

It was the way her beautiful, somehow unique pair of lips parted just the slightest bit when she was thinking or confused or just being absent minded.

It was the way most people's lips did that when they were doing those things, but when she did it, it caused Carly's breath to leak away.

It was the way Carly's inside twisted when she made incoherent little moans and sighs in her sleep.

It was the way every time she slept over, Carly would not catch one minute of sleep until she had heard enough of those moans or felt enough of those jerky movements, would not sleep for a minute until she was satisfied.

It was the way Carly would not just be bored without her best friend, like any normal girl, but she would be overcome by a tsunami of sadness and apathy.

It was the way she got electrocuted whenever they touched.

It was the way she wore her eye make-up—black liner, mascara, medium-gray shadow.

It was the way she didn't need it.

It was the way she could walk with the grace and balance of a queen if she needed to, yet still seemed to even if she didn't.

It was the way she somehow found herself wearing C-cups, yet in contrast had such a slim waist to make her built like a playboy bunny.

It was the way she never even acknowledged this about herself except those brief conversations Carly decided to take the dive and spit it out. She genuinely could care less about her "gifts."

It was the way she had caught Carly checking her out so many times but never said a word.

It was the way she made Carly feel this spectacular, wonderful emotion she grew addicted to, yet at the same time miserable and on her toes every waking second because she would never, she could never discuss these things freely any place but her own mind.

But most of all…it was the way on those rare occasions she could vaguely sense Sam Puckett felt this way about her, too.


End file.
